


Dancing On Thin Ice

by another_lonely_writer



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5 times Yurio needed Yuuri and 1 time Yuuri needed him, 5+1 Things, Character Study, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, M/M, Some fluff too, We Die Like Men, Yuri Plisetsky Is Protective of Katsuki Yuuri, Yuri Plisetsky Is a Katsuki Yuuri Fan, Yurio is a Fanboy, slight angst but its because its yurio what did you expect, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27992010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_lonely_writer/pseuds/another_lonely_writer
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky didn’t deserve this. He was going to be sharing a rink with Yuuri. He was going to be sharing a rink with Yuuri Katsuki.He was going to be sharing a rink with Yuuri fucking Katsuki.Yuuri Katsuki.A proper rink here at home. Yuri had half a mind to go thank old Viktor. The old man may be senile and yet he had managed to bring Katsuki to Russia who was The reason Yuri was skating in the first place- who was the reason Yuri continued to skate and continue to push.Yuuri who was his friend and competition and inspiration.Yuuri was his everything and he didn’t even know.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Mila Babicheva & Yuri Plisetsky, Nikolai Plisetsky & Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky, Yakov Feltsman & Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 42
Kudos: 308





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Five times Yurio needed Yuuri + the one time Yuuri needed him
> 
> The Ice Adolescence trailer threw me back into the fandom full force. Whoops.
> 
>   
>    
> 

1.

Yuri was seven the first time he saw Katsuki skate. His parents were fighting...again. He could hear them all screaming about god knows what upstairs, they were always fighting. He remembers turning on the tv to some random channel just hoping to drown out the noise, trying to stop the whispers in his head reminding him that he was the problem. 

They weren’t that well off, living in the shitty part of town where rent was too high and the apartments too small. The building creaked and the air was heavy with the weight of mildew and musk. He shivered and wrapped the ratty blanket around him tighter, the glare of the television drenched the dark room with a sickly yellow tone.

His parents never used to fight before he came along ruining their lives, at least that’s what they told him. He clenches his fist and lets the words turn in his head; he has most of them memorized by now. The numbness he feels when his mother screams at him, telling him he wasn’t part of her plan. He hears her wishing he was never born, about how she didn’t want the pregnancy, about how she didn’t want him. He doesn’t think he is unwanted- he knows it to be a fact. 

He sees the shake of her hands as she tries to hide it, and allows her to kick and scream and cry and cling onto him as she tries to sort through her hallucinations. She swears she’s clean but Yuri knows better by now.

He remembers the crack of his fathers fist hitting the wall after he comes home after a rough day. His fathers voice bellows as he swears to Yuri the only reason he married the psychotic bitch of his mother was because of him. He reminds Yuri that their crumbling marriage is his fault. Screams transform into mutters of unemployment and minimum wages and cursing the government until he passes out, tumbler of brandy balancing precariously in his hand.

Yuri flinches whenever he smells whiskey on his fathers breath, the echoes of the last time he was piss drunk still haunt him. He knows how to make himself scarce.

Yuri knows how to disappear. Yuri knows how to survive.

“... now entering the rink Yuri Katsuki of Japan....” It’s the sound of his own name that draws him out of his reverie. He glances back up to the tv screen, a boy wearing a blue jacket and large blue glasses occupies the screen. He looks nervous and fidgety, the commentators drone in the background as the camera zooms out.

They mention things like _great potential_ and _fan_ _favorite_. They wonder if this other Yuri can usurp Giacometti. The camera pans to another boy with golden curls and a wide smile. Glitter painted across his face and a chaotic look in his eyes-the current first place. 

As the camera shifts back to the Japanese Boy, Yuri wants to laugh. This boy looks like he’s about to pass out, and the commentators truly believe he is capable of not just placing the podium but actually winning?

He watches the Other Yuri take a deep breath and reveal his costume. It’s understated, something you would overlook at first and then once you look- you could never stop. He wears black trousers and a shimmery glittering red shirt, the color of blood. His face is painted with vines of red black and gold and this boy looks dangerous and bold and confident. In this costume as he takes a few laps, Katsuki looks unrecognizable, nothing like the bundle of nerves from two minutes ago. 

As he takes his starting stance, he looks like everything Yuri wishes he was. 

When Katsuki skates, Yuri is baffled. The way he moves is ethereal. His costume is almost harsh when compared to his delicate moves. Katsuki is different. He twists and turns and he smiles like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Katsuki skates and he is telling a story. Yuri is sitting there and is his most attentive listener.

Yuri sees the story of a young boy who is scared to be himself, with Katsuki’s small steps and tight spins. An elegant arch of his hands, holding his fingers just so as he bends back, walking an elegant tightrope through life. Yuri sees a story of growth, as his moves get bolder and stronger. A jump here and a swoop there. His hands swing around faster and he is fierce. Katsuki looks unafraid. Katsuki looks happy. Yuri sees a story of fear as the music builds and the boy jumps into a spin which seems to get faster and faster until he is nothing but a blur of red on the screen. Katsuki is mesmerising and Yuri feels breathless.

Then, he sees Katsuki fall. He sees Katsuki fall and then get up. He sees Katsuki fall and get up and continue to skate as if nothing happened- but it did. There’s a strange stiffness to his shoulders now and yet he persists. He continues and the story moves along- untainted.

All too soon the music winds down and Katsuki is tumbling into his final pose, a moment of silence before the crowd erupts. The boy is being showered by plushies and flowers and he beams standing in front of them. 

Yuuri Katsuki is now in third place. He is grinning and is happy and desperately Yuri can’t help but think how much he would like to be him. To be bold, fearless and beautiful. To be able to persist and tell stories- to tell his stories. To be applauded even after messing up. 

That night Yuri dreams in blues and greys with the coldness of the ice burning in his blood. He dreams of the Japanese boy dancing on the ice as if there is no other place he’d rather be. 

* * *

The next morning the police are banging on their doors and this isn’t anything particularly new, it just means Yuri gets to spend another day with his grandfather. He isn’t exaggerating when he says his grandfather is the best person he knows. His grandfather listens to his stories, he sees him. 

He makes sure his grandpa doesn’t know exactly how bad things have gotten at home- about how he’s almost always hungry these days, but as Grandfather urges him to eat another piroshki, Yuri suspects he knows anyway. He isn’t one to argue with his grandfather and continues to stuff himself silly, god knows when he’ll get a proper meal next time he’s at home.

His grandfather is looking at home strangely. 

“What?” He barks out in between bites. He smiles disapprovingly, “Yura what have we said about talking while chewing?”

Yuri quickly gulps down what he has and clears his throat. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His grandfather sighs as he piles more onto his own plate, “Yura your mother and father… they aren’t well” 

His appetite disappears almost instantly. He shoves his plate away and can feel his hands clamming up.

“-so what we’ve got a few problems but that doesn’t mean-“ His face feels like it is burning and his throat is closing up.

_He will not cry. He will not cry. He will not cry._

His parents aren’t the best and he knows this, he knows this goddamnit. That doesn’t mean he wants them to go away. They can be shitty but they’re the only parents he has. Yuri doesn’t want to be alone. 

_He will not cry. He will not cry. He will not cry._

His grandfather is suddenly up and has his arms around him. 

“Oh honey I didn’t mean to alarm you, it’s just that you’re going to be living with me for a bit. Is that alright son? Would you rather go live with your Aunt Karina?” Yuri’s face scrunches up. Visions of the young cousin flood his thoughts- messy and loud Vanya. He remembers the way Aunt Karina looked at him; pitied him. He doesn’t want to see Aunt Karina and her perfect family everyday; doesn’t want to remind himself that his parents were only parents in the vaguest sense of the word.

“No.” He mumbles out.

His grandfather is safe and familiar as he continues to hold him and pat his back.

“We will make a new life together here Yura.. We will get you enrolled in a nice school nearby”

His voice is soothing and familiar and Yuri feels the panic ebb away as his grandfather talks.

“There is a lovely café not 15 minutes away- you’ll love the chocolate éclair! The lady that works there is so kind as well and she has a young daughter your age, perhaps she’ll be a new friend”

A different future opens up, one where he doesn’t have to go to sleep hungry, one where he doesn’t have to be afraid all the time. A future where he could be happy.

“There is an ice rink around here too, the younger children go there often” Yuri instantly perks up. 

“Ice rink?”

“Da, we can get you onto the hockey team if you want, I am friends with the coach-“

He clears his throat, “Is there any figure skating there?”

The Japanese boy spinning and laughing and dancing, he was fire burning the ice, burning himself onto Yuri’s brain. He seemed so happy.

Yuri wants to be happy too.

His grandfather is quiet for a moment, “Our neighbor’s niece is a skater, I will talk to her”

* * *

The next week Yuri puts on cheap rental skates and makes his way into an ice rink for the first time. The chill of the rink is seeping into his skin, his ears are already red. The air is crisp and the sounds of blades cutting through the ice are a symphony of their own. There are other kids gliding around and laughing. They are happy.

He takes one step onto the ice and falls straight onto his butt. He hears his Grandfather chuckle somewhere behind him. A pair of white skates stops in front of him.

“Hello! My name is Mila Babicheva! Are you the new skater? My mama told me all about you Yuri, I’ve been skating for 2 years already. It’s the most fun!” 

Yuri just grins.


	2. Two

2.

Yuri was nine when he participated in his first competition. He had worked so hard with Irina at the rink and had created a small routine to perform at the local show. A simple and elegant yet well rounded routine. He had spent hours on the rink, figuring out the footwork. He practiced his spins until they were sharp and crisp. The monotony of repetition training his muscles until his jumps were clean and he was confident in his glides.

Yuri was ready for his first performance. Yuri was ready to be seen. 

He had seen Mila perform and be showered with flowers. She was a star, winning golds and winning hearts. Mila was _happy_. The year before, Mila had been scouted at a summer camp- with a smile and a wink she disappeared from his life as suddenly as she had crashed in. Mila was a whirlwind and Yuri wanted to be part of that kind of chaos. So, Yuri worked hard and meticulously, he drew figures on the ice until he couldn’t feel his feet. Irina guided him until his singles turned into doubles and his grandfather watched as Yuri became a better version of himself.

His grandfather had bought Yuri a poster of Katsuki, which Yuri promptly hung up front and center in his room, removing the collection of pictures and band posters he had accumulated over the years. The poster was a reminder. The poster was a promise. 

Katsuki’s still grinning face as he glided on the ice was persistence; the red was getting up and telling your story; the ice was happiness.

Yuri wanted to be happy.

The bundle of nerves in his stomach were a strange sort of comfort- the anticipation made him feel alive. He wasn’t worried, he could do this routine in his sleep. Yuri’s costume was a glittery ensemble his grandfather had helped him thrift and sew together. It was a painstaking process but they were diligent and the outcome wasn’t half bad. It was a simple white shirt with blue gemstones they attached to its collar to accent his navy blue bottoms. The ensemble came together with a pair of matching suspenders. Yuri had spent longer than he would like to admit, staring at his reflection in the mirror- braiding his hair like his mother used too.

With a deep breath, Yuri stepped out onto the ice. The short performance wasn’t much. The short performance was everything. Yuri gave himself to the muscle memory and danced through the routine. He felt weightless. He felt bliss. A jump there and an arch here moving into a smooth glide. It’s perfect.

As the last notes ring throughout the rink, he strikes his final pose, breathing heavily trying to catch his breath. The claps and cheers fade into the background and he sees his grandfather there, beaming with pride. His eyes scan the rest of the crowds- they weren't there. His parents hadn’t bothered to show up. Hours of debating with himself, wondering if he should send an invite- turns out he shouldn’t have bothered.

Yuri hadn’t expected them to come watch honestly. It was wishful thinking, the memory of parents who used to care was a vague memory. Those people didn’t exist anymore, they disappeared within whiskey and pills. Yuri knew this.

He didn’t know why it hurt so much anyway.

The gold medal around his neck shines brightly and Yuri smiles as Grandfather takes picture after picture. A gruff man approaches them as he was removing his skates besides the rink. He looks familiar for some odd reason.

“Yuri Plisetsky?” He asks. Yuri looks at his grandfather who nods in approval.

“Yes.” He says tentatively.

“I’ve been talking to Nikolai, I’ve seen the way you skate young man.” Yuri is confused, unclear of what this man is trying to say. “A skater of mine, Mila Babicheva, showed me an old video of you, I had to come see you in person. You have great potential, child.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Suddenly, Yuri knows exactly who this man is. He remembers seeing him besides the rink as Nikiforov brings another Gold home to Russia, “Congratulations on today’s win. It was a clear victory. What do you say, would you like to compete?” Yuri looks at his grandfather who is now smiling encouragingly. Is Yakov Feltsmen really here? Is he saying what Yuri thinks he is saying?

“Mr. Feltsmen Sir, I am already competing” Yuri holds up his medal as if to prove a point. Yakov barks a laugh, “I was thinking bigger, Son. Worlds, Grand Prix circuits…. The Olympics eventually.”

Yuri sucks in a breath. The man saw potential in him. The man who was coaching Mila to her wins; the man who was behind the Great Viktor Nikiforov; this man had taken some time out of his day to come visit Yuri at a local competition. The Yakov Feltsman wanted to help him win.

“I gave my number to your Grandfather, call me if you decide you want to start training properly.” Yakov grunts in lieu of a goodbye and leaves Yuri gaping in shock. The daze of his offer rings in his ear as they make their way home.

* * *

Yuri stares at his poster that night, staring at Katsuki, asking him for answers. 

The bed creaks as his grandfather sits down next to him. “Yura?” he intones but Yuri’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Have you thought about Yakov’s offer? He is a well-respected man.”

Yuri nods. “Mila has won so many titles under his wing--” Grandfather continues. “--I think it is a good opportunity Yura and I--”

“Do you think they care?” Yuri turns to look at his grandfather. He seems confused so Yuri elaborates, “Mom and Dad, I mean... do you think they care?” 

“Your parents…. They aren’t in the best of places-”

“They’re never in-” Yuri interrupts.

“-- and I know you are upset that they didn’t come to--”

“I’m not! It’s just--” Grandfather’s arm comes around him, a solid comfort to anchor Yuri’s swirling thoughts. “Yuri, your parents are proud of you. I am proud of you.” Yuri wraps his arms around him and snuggles into his chest, he smells like the coffee he likes to drink so much and Yuri feels safe. He has always felt safe with his grandfather.

“I just wish they had cared enough to come see me perform.” He feels a lump forming in his throat. 

“I know Yura, but it’s okay. Your parents do care, in their own little way- I promise.” His voice is soothing as he rubs calming circles onto his back. This is safe- this is home. Does he really want to leave everything he knows? What is Yuri going to do alone in a big city- what would he do without grandfather?

“It’ll be expensive, Grandpa.” Yuri murmurs finally. His grandfather barks out a laugh. “Oh I’m sure we can cover it with all the golds you will win.” 

“I’ll have to leave- to move to go to the training rink. It’s far away.” Yuri says. A rumbling sigh accompanies his next words, “Yura, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want too. I love you and I want you to be happy.”

Yuri has never felt as half as happy as he did today. He has never felt as happy as when he is on the ice. He looks at the new gold medal sitting on his desk and he wants it. He wants to be there dancing on the ice. He wants to be unforgettable- front and center. Yuri wants to win.

A chance to train on the same ice as the revered Nikiforov- Mila would slap him silly if she learned that he was considering rejecting this offer. _Mila._

Perhaps he wouldn’t be so alone in the big city after all. The sneaky girl had told Yakov about him after all. Yuri supposes he does miss her… not that he would ever tell her that. Her head is certainly large enough as it is! 

Yuri thinks of Mila, feeling her best on the ice. He thinks of Nikiforov, crashing his way through world records. He thinks of Katsuki in that red costume- fire burning across the rink. His parents would have to show up if he was performing in the fucking _Olympics_ he thinks wryly. A laugh escapes him.

“Will you miss me, Grandfather?” He asks. 

The reply is quick and firm with no room for argument, “Everyday, my child.” 

* * *

The next day he calls Yakov and tells him he accepts. He packs up his favorite clothes and throws his few belongings in a backpack. Yuri leaves his grandfather and leaves his life within the week. It is strange leaving the house and knowing he might not be back for months. 

“You will never know how proud I am of you, Yura.” Grandfather had stated as he got back on the train heading to Moscow and Yuri turned to leave with Madam Anastasia towards his new life. Madam Anastasia worked in the same training facility, she said she would work closely with Yuri.

“I work mainly with the incoming juniors and act as a scout. You must be something truly special Yuri, Yakov has been keeping an eye on you.” She smiles at him; he thinks it’s meant to be encouraging but the butterflies in Yuri’s stomach haven’t settled since the moment he first talked to Yakov.

St. Petersburg is musky and grey and polluted. The city is loud and the hustle and bustle is startling. The noisy city is a startling difference from the quiet suburbia he lived with with grandpa. The ice, however, is the same. The chill of the rink is unforgiving and the familiar sounds of blades scratching up the ice soothes his bones.

The ice is ice is ice and if this rink is good enough for the prodigal Viktor Nikiforov, then it is certainly good enough for Yuri.

“Just like old time eh Yurochka--” A gleeful familiar voice rings out. It’s like Yuri has gone back in time. Mila is there on the ice, a wide grin and the same manic energy surrounding her. “-- Are you ready to make history?” 

Russia needs another winner. When Nikiforov’s reign falls, Yuri wants to be the one to take the throne. Under Yakov’s tutelage, Yuri knows he can take his rightful place as Russia’s ice heir. 

Under Yakov’s tutelage, Yuri can win. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to link the music Yuuri was skating to in the first chapter so here you go! [ The Vampire Masquerade ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUNOfNad59Q)
> 
> The music Yurio uses for his first competition is [ The French Library ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-3z40QzJT0)


	3. Three

3.

Yuri was eleven when he finally met Yuuri Katsuki. He remembers the day like it was yesterday. The day had flown by too fast and not fast enough at the same time.

No, Yuri is not a Katsuki fanboy- really he’s not. He just… he admires his skating okay? He might also think he has a very nice smile. Yuri also knows that Katsuki’s favourite food is katsudon and his favourite color is blue. He knows Yuuri admires Nikiforov, the Russian legend himself. Yuri is definitely not jealous of that fact.

Mila is a mouthy gossip and she is wrong, Yuri is _not a Katsuki fanboy_. Those posters in his room are just like for motivation or whatever- like for the aesthetic. That wrinkly good for nothing that he calls a friend just likes embarrassing him.

This particular year, Katsuki was going to be competing in Canada. He was finally getting the proper recognition he deserved. Most online forums were cluttered singing Nikiforov’s praises but in the corners, he found people like himself. Individuals who saw Katsuki and realized there was something about him that was unmatched. Yuuri Katsuki may not be sweeping in golds but his talent on the ice couldn’t be overlooked. 

It was a shame really, Yuri didn’t understand how he wasn’t a bigger name already. By all accounts, Katsuki should have been sweeping in wins but the articles he painstakingly translated called him a _‘late bloomer’_ and a ‘ _work in progress’_

After a week of begging and pleading and throwing a tantrum, Yakov agrees to take Yuri with him to Canada. Mila was skating in Canada too, and Vlad, another skater, was competing in the same event as Katsuki. Yakov, would obviously be accompanying them. 

When Yakov finally sighs and gives in, Yuri rushes to pack his things. He is quite sure he has never packed so quickly. He grabs a stuffed cat on his way out… _for good luck_. After all, it’s not everyday you get to meet your favorite skater.

_(Not that Yuuri Katsuki was his favorite.)_

* * *

Standing near the rink side, next to Vlad as Yakov gave him some last second notes

The music sweeps and starts and Yuri thinks he forgets to breathe. It is a strong start and Yuri is mesmerized, glued to his place as the world fades into the background. 

Now that he is training, he can pick apart the technical aspects of it. Katsuki has been so untouchable to him for so long; it's strange to witness the roughness of his routine, to acknowledge it is far from perfection.

Yuri Katsuki is currently in fourth place. As he comes down from the kiss and cry after getting his scores, Yuri breaks away from Yakov to run towards him.

“Yuuri!” he calls out, causing the Japanese skater to turn, adjusting his glasses on his face. Now that he is standing in front of him, Yuri finds himself unable to form the words. He is unsure of what to say.

Katsuki shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and then clears his throat “Yuri Pilsetsky?” 

Yuri’s eyes widened in shock. Katsuki laughs nervously, “I’ve seen you skate, makes me glad I’m not competing in the junior circles anymore.” 

_Oh my god, say something!_ The silence stretches between them. Yuri’s tongue seems stuck to the roof of his mouth. Katsuki looks rather ill, like he would rather be anywhere else right now. He fidgets with the hem of his blue jacket and Yuri is frozen still.

“Yuri-san!!” A voice calls out and Katsuki gives him a sheepish smile looking slightly relieved. He turns to leave, but then swivels back. Katsuki tilts his head and gives him one last look, like he is contemplating something. He takes out a rose from the bouquet he was clutching in his hand and holds it out towards him. Yuri takes it eagerly.

Katsuki offers him one last smile before turning on his heel and disappearing with his coach.

Later that night in the hotel, he twirls the red rose around in between his fingers. He eventually takes the flower and presses it between the pages of a book. He will keep this as a reminder.

He will skate on the same ice as Yuri Katsuki one day and he will win. It’s a promise.

* * *

He starts his training with a new vigor, working with Madam Anastasia to correct and tweak his routines. Yakov drills him, seemingly unimpressed. Yuri pushes himself harder. Better. Faster. Stronger. He hears the whispers of the people around him. 

_“-----as good as Viktor was at that age---”_

_“---unseen in children of his age bracket, his form----”_

_“------wonder what he will do in the senior division---”_

_“---glory to Russia!”_

_Prodigy._

The word is thrown around him and it trails after him after each competition. The weight of it is a comfort. A news article runs an article on him, _‘The Next Nikiforov ‘_ He takes the article and carefully snips it out. He takes it and places it right next to the preserved rose in his desk drawer.

_“---medals in the junior---”_

_“---already breaking records, can you--”_

_‘-- have you seen anything like---”_

He just grins as he adds another gold to his growing collection. People start stopping him on the street, asking for photos. They call themselves Yuri’s Angels. His social media is a storm of edits and praise. After each performance he is showered with plushies and cat ears and roses. Roses that are as red as the one Katsuki gave him.

_“---so young too--”_

_“---he looks angelic on the ice---”_

_“---an excellent jump---”_

The media starts to call him The Russian Fairy. It’s certainly not the title he would’ve chosen for himself, but he supposes it will do. It’s an addicting thing, getting win after win. The rush of adrenaline and the roar of the crowds is a comfort. Sometimes he wonders if his parents are out there somewhere, watching him. Then, he has to remind himself that he doesn’t care.

He sends each medal back home to his Grandfather whose support is unwavering and endless. He texts back a shaky picture of a shelf he has started to fill back home. It is a shrine to Yuri’s growing list of achievements _. I’m proud of you Yura._ Yuri stares at the text and doesn’t notice the wide grin spanning across his face.

* * *

He knows he shouldn’t do the quad, but he does it anyway. Yakov will give him hell for it as soon as he walks off the ice but he knows he can do it! _Wasn’t Viktor doing quads at his age as well?_

He finishes the program with a flourish, a smug grin on his face. He walks off the rink, already ready to tune out whatever Yakov will say. What’s the point in holding him back? _Prodigy._ The word echoes around his head. He should be breaking records; he should be making history. Yuri can’t do that without quads.

To his surprise he is greeted with slow claps, it’s Viktor Nikiforov. Yuri sucks in a breath. He has seen him around of course, they share a coach. Viktor lives in his own little bubble most of the time and doesn't deign to pay attention. 

He’s got the signature Nikiforov smile plastered across his face. “I see what everyone has been on about, little Yuri. You could be a great skater one day.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and flips his hair out of his eyes. He already knows all this. “Listen to Yakov, you don’t want to ruin your career before it begins.” His tone is nonchalant, it sets Yuri’s teeth on edge. 

“You don’t get to say that!” He barks out in accusation resulting in a chuckle. “-- not when you’ve been jumping quads since your own junior circuits!”

He furrows his brow in thought, bringing one finger up to his bottom lip and tapping lightly. “Tell you what, you win the junior Grand Prix without using quads and I’ll choreograph your senior debut.” Viktor glances behind Yuri, looking at Yakov who grunts in approval. It’s laughable, as if Viktor would ever need permission from Yakov. It is a well established fact that Nikforov does whatever he wants and Russia simply kisses his skates and thanks him.

“Are you serious?” Yuri questions, not daring to hope. Viktor is known for being forgetful, for running on whims. The question makes the silver-haired man pause for a moment before he replies, “Win Yuri Plisetsky. Win and prove to me that you are worth my time.” His tone is flat, it is a challenge. “There is more to skating than just jumps, you know?”

Yuri does know. His thoughts fly to Viktor’s latest gold winning performance, the story he wove on the ice. A story about strangers turned enemies on the cusp of what ifs. A dance of yearning. 

He remembers the first skate he ever saw, he remembers the way Katsuki’s sharp movement made him _feel._ He remembers the breathlessness that overtook him standing rink side in Canada, watching Katsuki.

Viktor has given him a challenge and Yuri will accept. He would be a fool to refuse a chance to skate a program choreographed by Viktor. Yuri can see it now, he would walk into seniors and destroy the rankings. He thinks of Katsuki who has been steadfastly gaining his own following. He is finally coming into his own.

He plays with the medal around his neck as he stands in the middle of the podium that day. Yuri is happy for Katsuki… _really_ , but there can only be one Yuri on the ice; and he really does like to win.

The thought of finally competing against him makes him giddy and with Viktor’s touch, the gold is as good as his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Viktor skate Yurio refers to is set to this music [ here. ](https://youtu.be/l--nVhck574)  
> Yuuri's skate in Canada is to this music [ here. ](https://youtu.be/4YVI5_Z5Q2g)


	4. Four

4.

Yuri was fifteen when he realized he might finally get to skate on the same ice as Katsuki.

Yuri tunes out Viktor’s grating voice, he didn’t think it was possible but sharing a rink with him really put things into perspective. The man is annoying. Viktor is so used to winning he doesn’t even see anymore. He is droning on and on dishing out advice Yuri doesn’t want to hear. He already knows he’s the best, another gold win just proves it. He doesn’t need Viktor (or Yakov for that matter) lecturing him.

Yuri’s thoughts are elsewhere, he keeps replaying that moment in his head. He followed Yuri into that bathroom on an impulse, he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

A few more years and several more wins under his belt had changed Yuri, he had grown up unafraid to speak his mind. There was a confidence that accompanied knowing that you were the best. 

He slams the door open to the bathroom stall, the sounds of sniffling echo. _Pathetic._ Yuri’s blood boiled, this year it should have been Katsuki on the podium. Katsuki knew it. Yuri knew it. Everyone in the whole circuit knew it. How could he have crashed and burned like this? 

Yuri was so angry, he doesn’t even remember what he said. He just remembers seeing Katsuki looking so… so _defeated_ . It was nothing like the fearless and determined Yuri remembered from all those years ago when he had discovered the sport. Hell, this person is nothing like the awkward teen who had handed him the rose. _Does Yuuri remember that day?_

“A commemorative photograph?” Viktor has put on that sugary voice, the one he reserves for fawning and adoring fans. It grates on Yuri’s nerves and he looks up; determined to chase off the person who had interrupted his internal monologuing. 

Viktor can’t possibly be this stupid, it is the only thought in Yuri’s head. Standing in front of them is Katsuki Yuuri himself, decked in blue and a face mask hanging haphazardly down one ear. Granted, he looks a bit different with his large rounded glasses but still! This is another professional skater and Viktor must know…. _Right?_

Yuri watches Katsuki spin on his heel and march away from them, shoulders hunched and a heaviness in his gait. Viktor drops the smile and starts back in on his lecture. Yuri is dumbstruck, staring after the Japanese man, rage bubbling up inside him.

“You’re really something Nikiforov.” He spits the words at him, interrupting the tirade and storms off, incensed on behalf of Katsuki. _Is Yuuri okay?_

+++

The banquet was a study in humiliation. The night still burned in his brain after all these months. He swipes through the pictures he has, grinning at the sight. He had actually danced with (or rather against) Katsuki Yuuri himself. Granted, the man was drunk but he had won the dance battle, regardless of what anyone else would say. 

Yuri is giddy with the memory, sure it wasn’t the same as competing on the ice but it was undoubtedly something. Katsuki had even seemed better, a nice sight after that situation in the bathroom. He liked to think that he had done his job well considering Katsuki had quite literally danced the night away. He rolls over and places the phone on the table next to him, pulling the covers all the way up to his ears. Katsuki Yuuri was going to be okay, he was going to do just fine. Besides, now they had a chance to be true rivals, a proper chance to face off on the ice.

Months fly by and Yuri waits. He waits and waits and waits. Katsuki has never been one for social media but the strange silence from Phichit Chulanont’s account is staggering. Yuri pretends not to worry.

**JAPANESE ACE KATSUKI YUURI- DISASTER STRIKES**

He watches a few clips. The skate is staggering and awkward. It is a harsh contrast to the image he associated with Katsuki’s name. It’s painful to watch. Yuri supposes everyone has bad days, Katsuki somehow has more than most. He continues focusing on himself.

**KATSUKI YUURI, IS THIS THE END?**

Yuri Plisetsky was fifteen when he realized that Katsuki might leave the competitive circuit before he ever got the chance to win against him. He tries not to panic when Katsuki doesn’t even make it to Worlds. This doesn’t mean anything, there’s always the next season.

**RUMORS OF YURI KATSUKI BREAKS OFF FROM COACH**

**JAPANESE SKATER YUURI SPLITS FROM CELESTINO: SOURCES CONFIRM**

He doesn’t let the headlines faze him. The gossip columns like to exaggerate, after all how many times had Viktor supposedly suffered from a career ending injury? If they were true, maybe Katsuki was just changing coaches, it wasn’t completely unheard of. Perhaps he had found another coach better suited to him. 

**KATSUKI SPOTTED HOME IN JAPAN**

**CHULANONT POSTS HEARTFELT GOODBYE FOR BESTFRIEND KATSUKI**

Yuri chucks his phone across his room, the resounding crack soothes something in his chest. He throws himself onto his bed, burying his face into the pillow.

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

Katsuki can’t stop skating.This has to be a weird nightmare because out of everything Yuri has ever dreamed of, this couldn’t be happening. He storms to his closet, ripping the door open. He frantically rummages around, desperate and searching when he sees it. An innocuous box.

Yuri opens it and inside is a lone pressed rose and a rolled up battered poster. 

A younger version of Katsuki, whispers of a promise that Yuri can’t keep.

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

Yuri was supposed to skate with him- against him. There was only supposed to be one Yuri on the ice but not like this. Not when Yuri still hadn’t had his chance. Not when Yuri had been so close to sharing the same ice. Not like this.

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

He sprawls his legs across the floor, slumping down against a wall. He hadn’t even realized when the tears started streaking down his face.

+++

Many weeks later since The Incident, which is what Yuri has started calling the bout of insanity in his head, he gets an influx of tweets tagging him. He had just gotten home from practice, it was a bit later than usual because Mila had dragged him out to some bookshop. It was all bullshit, Yuri wasn’t sure Mila knew how to read. He scoffs, the hag just wanted to drool over the bigshot author who was coming in for a signing. The whole situation made him want to retch.

He opens up the app and his timeline is flooded with the same video over and over again. It is Yuuri Katsuki, looking a bit more full and not at all in competition shape. Yuri feels his heart sink all over again and is just about to click out when Katsuki takes a position that’s all too familiar.

The video is grainy and shaky and he can hear shushing and giggles in the background and Katsuki starts to skate. It’s Viktor’s skate, he knows this instantly. It’s Viktor’s skate but at the same time… it’s not. There is something very desperately Katsuki about it; he sees it in the sharp spins and the way he reaches out to something- to someone. 

He replays the short clip over and over and over again. He is quite unsure how he feels. If Katsuki is skating like this, when he isn’t even in proper form, why the hell did he decide to stop? 

+++

Yuri is okay… honestly. The world doesn’t owe him anything. He doesn’t need Katsuki to still be the best skater. He is going into seniors. Viktor promised him- the old man promised and now he was going to pay up. Yuri was going to sweep into seniors and steal the gold out from under Nikiforov and show the world that Yuri was the best. He was going to show Katsuki that he was the best. Yuri would never be able to realize his dream.... Not the first time life had left him down. He rolls his eyes. He thinks about the viral clip again, with that natural affinity for the ice, why would Katsuki retire? Yuri can’t wrap his head around it.

One thing is for sure, he isn't going to let this stop him. Yuri Plisetsky isn’t just going to win, he is going to thrive god damnit. With or without Katsuki. He pulls his leather jacket closer to him. It’s a new fit he found in an obscure shop, the inside is lined with faux fur in a leopard print. Music blares in his headphones as he walks towards the rink. 

His phone pings with a notification and he whips it out. The thing is scratched up around the edges, it’s not as pristine as it once was, a consequence of Yuri’s own short temper. 

He blinks, unsure of what he is seeing.

It is an Instagram notification from V-Nikiforov. The old man is in Japan. Yuri stops in his tracks. He zooms into the photo and then zooms back out. He sees the number of likes build each time he refreshes, desperate for an explanation. _How was he in Japan?!_ Yuri had just texted him last night. He was going to ask him today about the new choreography for fucks sake!

He scrolls through the comments in search for answers when he sees it. Hasetsu. _Yuuri Katsuki_. 

_Be my coach, Viktor!_

Yuri clenches his teeth, remembering that banquet, as if it was yesterday. Viktor couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t leave him for Katsuki. Katsuki who was retired. Katsuki who he would never get to compete against. Katsuki whose speed, elegance and grace Yuri himself could never capture. Katsuki who for the most part was better than him, who could tell stories.

Inexplicably, Yuri thinks back to that day so long ago, before his Angels and this city he now calls home. His feet have carried him to the rink but he hardly knows how he got there.

Viktor was in Japan. Viktor had left him. Viktor had promised. 

His mind is still reeling. _Everyone always leaves him._ Every gold medal under his belt is just a reminder that his parents still haven’t bothered to care. Now, a person who Yuri thought was a friend- someone he was counting on- was abandoning him.

He wants to be angry. _Does this mean Katsuki hasn’t retired? Are Viktor and Katsuki friends? Have they been secretly in touch since Sochi?_ His traitorous mind whispers, already eager with the new possibilities. Some part of him thrills with the knowledge that he might still get his wish. Another part wants to wring Viktor’s neck. 

Yuri doesn’t know. He hates not knowing.

Either way, he isn’t going down without a fight. He books the next flight out to Tokyo and throws himself into practice with a new vigor. He chuckles inwardly, Yakov is going to kill him.


	5. Five

5.

Yuri doesn’t think fifteen is too young to be performing Eros. 

This is the actual reason Viktor gives him later that night. None of that ‘you have to surprise your audience bullshit’ Yuri sinks down deeper into the hotspring letting the scalding water work it's magic. It does wonders for the aches in his bones. Viktor is unforgiving as a coach. The wide eyes and easy smile hide sharp calculating eyes and scathing critique. It’s so easy to forget sometimes that the easy going forgetful man is a Russian champion; that he is the undefeated conqueror of the ice.

Viktor is relentless. Viktor is unforgiving.

He is as ruthless with them as he is with himself. Perfection is what has given him the title of Ice Prince. His blue eyes stare at Yuri and Katsuki as he drills them through the basics day in and day out, picking out the slightest irregularities. His voice is as cold as the ice they balance on even as he smiles.

“Don’t embarrass me on the ice, I have a reputation young Yuri... _Da_?” The memory of the condescending tone has Yuri gritting his teeth. Stupid old man, he's gotten too comfortable with being the best. Yuri can't wait to change this.

Viktor's dogged focus is familiar to Yuri. In fact, he has done his best to try and replicate it while growing up next to the old man. It seems to throw Katsudon _(Katsudon is what Yuri calls Katsuki now-because he’s close enough to give the skater a nickname now. He swears this is not a big deal; it certainly does not send his heart racing.)_ for a tailspin.

Katsuki, however, is disciplined in a way Yuri has never had to be. He takes all of Viktor’s remarks in stride, carefully making corrections and adjustments. He never contradicts, never shows hesitation. It is the antithesis to everything Yuri himself has grown up with. He has always been surrounded by people for whom skating was as easy as breathing. Yuri has never seen someone with such unwavering dedication.

He used to think he practiced more than average but looking at the Japanese skater who introduced him to the ice- Yuri realized his schedule was something akin to a joke. He looks at Katsudon fall and get up and then fall and get up and fall and get up again.

Over and over and over and over. Determination and perseverance etched clearly across his face every single time Viktor says, “Again.”

This version of Yuuri Katsuki is so familiar to Yuri and yet a complete stranger altogether. The persistence is something he had expected, it is what he has been known for. All of his fans _(of which Yuri is most decidedly not)_ knew that Katsuki is no stranger to failure. It is inspiring to see in real life, forcing and motivating Yuri to be better.

But this version is just so unsure at times, its almost frightening. He certainly looks like the same man who stripped down to his underwear and pole danced. He has the same grace and technique as the man who won a dance battle. He has the vision and the poise to be the skater that made it to the Grand Prix and yet- Yuri has no idea what to make of this timid and fidgeting person. Yuri doesn't understand how Katsuki seems to shrink into himself, trying to occupy no space at all. He rejects compliments and shies away from the center of attention. 

Yuuri Katsuki in real life is the exact opposite of Yuuri Katsuki the professional skater. They are the same person... but not.

Yuri has always been around loud people; Mila unafraid to voice her opinion; Gerogi always crying over some relationship; Viktor with his random bouts of inspiration and unwavering confidence. Even Yakov was screaming at them all constantly; His grandfather was a boisterous individual, unafraid to voice his opinions.

Perhaps it was a cultural thing, but Yuri’s gut told him it was something else. The dichotomy of the Japanese skater sends his mind whirring.

This person was a shadow of the individual he saw at the banquet and a fragment of the person Yuri had built up in his head.

He decides he rather likes Yuuri Katsuki anyway.

* * *

The day of Onsen on Ice comes all too soon. He hadn’t really expected it to pull such a crowd, though it doesn’t really bother him. Yuri has performed for much larger and critical sets of eyes.

He jogs in place, stretching and warming up. He is dressed in one of Viktor’s older costumes- a relic from his own junior days. Some part of Yuri hates it- everywhere he goes people call him the next Viktor. He is so tired of being in Viktor's shadow.

Another part of Yuri twists in glee, there is something to be said about wearing such an iconic costume. He will take it and give it a new story. He will change the way people perceive it; the way people perceive him.

He will remove Viktor’s memory and replace it with his own. 

He is the first Yuri Plisetsky.

Yuri carefully unzips his jacket- having hidden his choice from the others so far.

“Yurio!” Yukko’s adoring gasp makes him smile. For a Nikiforov fan- she’s alright Yuri supposes. She is kind to him and always ready to help. More than that, Yukko is a talented skater, a fact which is apparent every time she steps on the ice. 

It boggles him why she never chose to go professional, why she chose children over herself. 

Yuri’s own parents never bothered, he wonders if they would ever choose him. He looks at the hyperactive triplets sometimes and wonders if they realize how lucky they are.

He looks at the way Katsuki fits into his own family- the undying support he has even if his parents don’t quite understand. The easy acceptance- an acceptance they extend to Yuri too- is foreign to him. No wonder Katsudon came back to Japan, sometimes Yuri wonders how he ever found the will to ever leave.

Yuri steps out onto the ice, letting images of his grandfather dance across his mind's eye. The music starts and he lets it wash over him. He tries to tell a story; to show off his Agape.

He feels the crowd cheer and he lets that energy fill him up and propel him forward.

He thinks of the first time he met Mila. He thinks about moving to St. Petersburg. He thinks of the shelf his grandfather made for his medals.

A spin. A jump. Hands raised up just so.

He gives into muscle memory, letting the screams of the crowd fade to the background.

Yuri remembers his absent parents. 

He remembers awful insults and scathing words. He remembers the way his mother looked after a binge. He remembers the whiskey on his father’s breath.

He feels the Agape fall, slip and crash.

Glide. Leap. Reach. Jump.

The music fades away as he holds the final pose. The audience applauds and he takes a bow.

The performance was technically perfect but Yuri feels unsatisfied. 

Agape, a love between parent and child. He scoffs. It's so fucking stupid.

Now, it’s his turn to watch, Yuri catches the tail end of a conversation between Katsudon and the old man as he settles rink side, “I love pork cutlet bowls!”

Yuri rolls his eyes. The sky was blue and the grass was green and Viktor Nikiforov was an incorrigible flirt. 

Yuri watches Katsudon skate out into the middle of the ice and he has to fight a grin. He wonders if Yuuri was just oblivious or really just that cold. He had watched Viktor’s blatant advances be ignored and dismissed over and over again.

He almost felt bad but then remembered why he was in Japan in the first place- forced to be competing for something that was already promised to him. It was bloody unfair.

The familiar Spanish music starts up and Katsuki is off. He winks and Viktor let’s out a low whistle beside him.

Yuri feels his heart drop.

Katsuki is spinning and spinning and spinning and suddenly Yuri is seven again, watching him spin stories with his parents arguing in the background.

The performance is technically flawed, but it’s something beautiful anyway. _This_ is the something beautiful he has been chasing for years, the something beautiful that had gotten Katsuki to the Grand Prix in the first place. H

e turns to look at Viktor, whose eyes are fixed on Yuuri’s leaping form, utterly transfixed; as he should be. He swears the whole crowd is holding its breath, the rapture and fascination is something Viktor himself hasn’t been able to achieve in years.

This is Yuri Katsuki’s Eros. _Can he really be thinking of pork cutlet bowls?_ Perhaps Yuri hasn't found his Agape after all. He shudders to think what might happen if Katsuki finds a proper Eros inspiration.

For the first time in his skating career, Yuri feels a sense of inferiority. He has always admired Katsuki, but today he envies him. He hates the fact he can’t encapsulate emotion in his fluid movements, a skill that seems inherent to Katsuki. He turns abruptly, hands fisted at his side and heads to the Onsen, where he shoves his few belongings back into his bag.

It’s been great fun, spending some time in Japan, but Yuri understands what Viktor has been trying to tell him since last year. His debut is no joke-he will need to perfect himself to complete in the senior bracket. He will need to work harder to leave his mark because now he will be competing against skaters like Katsuki. The road to victory isn’t paved with quads, it’s paved with the delicate artistry he has yet to master. The Katsudon can keep Viktor- Yuri doesn’t need him, he doesn’t need anyone.

The rapid and intricate footwork for Eros runs through his mind as he treks his way to the bus stand. 

He thinks of the love Yukko has for her family. He thinks of Minako and her sharp words- always encouraging. He thinks of Mr.Katsuki’s support for his son even as he remains clueless about the sport. He thinks of Mrs.Katsuki as she cooks food- telling Yuri that love is the secret ingredient in her broken English.

Yuri thinks of his grandfather, thousands of miles away in Moscow. 

He thinks about Agape- unconditional love.

As the trees whip by on his way to the train station, Yuri feels a sense of determination swell up in him. A sense of direction- a destiny; a unique sort of peace. He knows what he has to do now.

It’s time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part soon! I promise <3


End file.
